Tuesday, 8 March 2016

My Shimpu

Playing hide and seek, living-loving-living, collecting
stones and moments, she picked a golden one. It flew away, but left her hand
glowing.

*

Lovely golden-brown hair, tinge of black and kohl eyed (you beautiful one), he had a unique
habit of watching the birds, following them as far as he could with his eyes (do you know this bird, hmm). She thought
he was a dog who wanted to become a bird. Happy by nature, he came rushing
madly whenever she whistled (my
gugglu-pugglu come here you); he knew it was evening walk time.

He loved
the walks, the joy in his eyes, running fast like a deer, jumping cutely like a
rabbit proved so every single day (run-run-run-yeah).
She found him notorious and innocent, funny and silly, crazy and cute, all (you are a clown, yes you are).

She can never forget how he once gazed at the moon;
mesmerized by the round shape in the sky, wondering, maybe, when and how does
it fly… he just kept looking.

Caressing him one evening, after the walk, she didn’t know
what was to befall (you biscuit lover,
don’t go now). If only she had the faintest idea, a frivolous hunch, she
would have never let him go outside the house. That night he didn’t return,
even when she whistled; she went in the dark, calling out his name, but no sign
of him.

Early next morning, walking and whistling, asking any and
everyone in the village, she wished to see him, see him come rushing towards
her from somewhere so that she could hold him tight in her arms and never let
him go.

Two months have passed and she still wishes the same. Her
eyes quietly wait to see him. She watches the birds closely now. She wishes to
fly.